


The End of Wizardkind

by IsileeGilbert



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsileeGilbert/pseuds/IsileeGilbert
Summary: The wizarding world has been afflicted with a terrible disaster, and the Malfoys are having a crisis. Will the end of wizardkind come to pass?
Kudos: 4





	The End of Wizardkind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series (but I wanna meet Draco Malfoy drools)

[Written for the Quidditch League Season 8 Round 4]

Team: Tutshill Tornados

Position: Beater 1

* * *

**The End of Wizardkind**

Draco was panicking.

One wouldn't be able to tell—his face remained impassive; his expression stoic. He was seated stiffly upright in his high-backed chair with legs elegantly crossed. The only movements he made were of his hands smoothly flipping through the document he was holding.

But he was in an absolute state of panic, and so very thirsty.

_I need some tea._

In one fluid movement, he flicked his wand at the stack of blank, yellow departmental memos. Then his hand stopped midair when nothing happened. Again. Sucking in a quick intake of breath through his teeth, he slowly reached for the topmost blank memo and examined it. When it still remained clear of any change, he flung it aside irritably and quickly stood up. Marching with determined footsteps toward the door of his office, his dragon-hide boots snapped a quick tempo on the hardwood floor.

Levelling with his secretary's table directly outside, he gave her a peeved look.

'Amy, some Earl Grey, please. Quick as you can.'

As Amy hurried to get some tea, Draco stalked back to his desk and plopped down in a most unrefined manner as a Malfoy most definitely should never be caught dead doing. Whirling his wand between his fingertips, he huffed. Something had been wrong the whole week—any magic he performed either didn't work or faltered, and he had just about had enough. Likely the shoddy work of Ollivander that caused it; he should get a Gregorovitch wand this time.

He straightened his posture immediately when he heard the click of heels approaching his office. Amy cautiously entered and placed the cup of tea she was holding onto his desk.

'Anything else for you, Mr Malfoy?' she ventured timidly.

'No, thank you. Apologies for snapping at you earlier.'

Amy immediately flushed and told him not to mind it as she slipped out the door, quietly shutting it behind her. Draco sipped at the tea and the tension in his shoulders loosened infinitesimally; the bergamot unfurling across his body and clearing his mind. He sighed with some satisfaction and decided to head home for the day.

Stepping wearily out of the fireplace, Draco vanished the soot from his suit and headed toward the parlour for a drink. He was mildly surprised to see his father already there, seated in the plushest forest green armchair, swirling a glass of Elven wine in one hand as the other gripped a copy of The Daily Prophet. Lucius usually would have already retreated to the study by this hour, and the only time he occupied the parlour was when he was engrossed in some big news from the paper. Heading to the sideboard, Draco poured himself a tumbler of neat Firewhiskey and perched on the bay window seat. Knowing if he waited long enough, his father would voice his opinions on whatever news was so important that day.

Without looking up from the Prophet, Lucius' voice rumbled, 'Have you seen the news recently? The past two weeks, people have been losing control of their magic for no apparent reason. The St Mungo's Healers say it's thus far an incurable malady. They are calling it a global disaster for wizardkind.' Draco's head snapped up to look at his father. Lucius' upper lip curled in disdain. 'Most likely due to...muddled heritage, I'm sure. The likes of such as them could never comprehend what it means to have the purest flow of magic coursing through you.'

There was no response whatsoever from Draco, causing Lucius to look up curiously, only to see that the younger man's complexion had turned even paler than it already usually was. The hand holding the tumbler of Firewhiskey trembled conspicuously; the alarm obvious in his agape mouth and widened eyes.

'Draco?'

'Father...' Came the reply in a small, weak voice. 'My magic has been out of sorts all week.'

Lucius rose from his seat so quickly the armchair overturned. 'What do you mean?' he demanded. 'What do you mean, _out of sorts_?'

Draco gulped visibly, then shuddered. 'The whole of the past week, any time I tried to use magic, it failed. I'm sure it's due to a faulty wand. Ollivander _has_ been getting on in age after all...' he trailed off with nervous laughter.

'Malfoys don't just...just... _lose_ their _magic_! How could you!' Lucius said indignantly.

Draco spluttered, 'It's not like I asked to lose the most important part of myself, Father!'

'Well...then, don't!'

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Draco stormed over to stand before his father and snarled, ' _Expelliarmus_!'

Nothing happened. Not even a wiggle of movement from Lucius' wand. A stricken look crossed Lucius' face. His son—a _Malfoy_ —without magic! Equivalent to a Squib! No one could know. They'd be the laughing stock of all wizarding Britain!

Advancing on Draco, Lucius grabbed both his shoulders and shook him roughly. 'Again! Try another spell!'

'It won't work, Father. I already—'

' _Again_!' Lucius insisted heatedly.

A long-suffering sigh escaped Draco as he raised his wand to cast, ' _Lumos_.'

An hour and a variety of failed spells later, Draco was panting, drained, and Lucius had begun to adopt a rather wild look in his eyes.

'This is preposterous! We have to do something!' The older man tore his hands through his hair which has long since escaped the neat black velvet ribbon he had put it in. Draco slumped exhausted into the nearest armchair and closed his eyes as he called impatiently, 'Zippy!'

There was a sharp crack and his personal house elf appeared next to him. 'Is Master needing Zippy?'

'Tea.'

'Zippy is getting Master's favourite tea now.' With another crack, she was gone.

'No, no, no, we have to fix this!' Lucius' movements were stiff with agitation, and without another word he firmly grabbed Draco's shoulder and Disapparated.

'Wha—Father! My tea!' Draco was completely unprepared for the sudden shift in location and, still in a seated position, had landed most ungraciously on his arse when the armchair disappeared from beneath him. He turned to glower up at his father, but Lucius had already begun to walk away. Draco rolled his eyes and rose from the ground, tugging at his suit to straighten it.

Looking around, he saw the easily-recognisable sterile white, drab decor of the reception lobby at St Mungo's. Trailing in the direction his father had gone, Draco soon saw Lucius towering imperiously over a terrified looking man at the end of a corridor.

'M-M-Mr Malfoy, sir, as the reception witch has already explained, this most recent malady is currently incurable with all of our available potions and spellwork. We are working around the clock to find a cure, sir, but it is proving difficult,' the stout man in lime-green Healer robes stammered nervously.

Lucius stared the man down. 'Well, tell me about this Merlin-damned malady then!'

'From reports of Healers everywhere, the Health Organisation of Wizardkind have gathered that it is a pandemic experienced by wizarding folk across the globe, but it seems to be especially concentrated in Britain.' The man seemed to grow in confidence as he spoke about his field. 'The cause remains unknown, Mr Malfoy, but the only symptoms that show outwardly are severe thirst and the gradual loss of magic, until the person is left worse off than a Squib.'

'What do you mean worse off than a Squib? How could it be worse than a Squib?' Draco demanded as he strode towards them.

The Healer looked alarmed at a second Malfoy approaching him. 'Squibs are able to live as regular Muggles sir, but the victims of this malady are not only left with no magic but also critically weakened immune systems for the rest of their lives. They are vulnerable to nearly anything, so even if they could theoretically recover from the malady, they would die soon after from another contracted illness. Many of our patients...passed after ten days from the first signs. It is a fast-acting illness, indeed. We only know it's not contagious, but there's really no indicator as to its conception.'

Then a contemplative look alighted the Healer's expression. 'Could it be...that you have the malady...Mr Malfoy?'

Lucius cleared his throat most obnoxiously to redirect the Healer's attention to himself. 'How could that be? We are _Malfoys_.' He sniffed, as if that explained everything. 'We merely heard the devastating news to our magical community and wished to...make a donation to the cause of finding a remedy.'

'O-Of course, sir. If that's the case, you may direct the donation to St Mungo's Board of Directors.'

Another Healer quickly approached the one they had been speaking to with information of yet another admitted victim of the malady. Lucius smiled disparagingly, and grabbed Draco's shoulder, Disapparating with a sharp turn on his heel and a soft _pop_.

Draco was more prepared for the landing this time, and found himself an uneven pavement. Light rain was falling from dreary grey clouds above as though the sky were lamenting for his sake. He swallowed the hard lump that had lodged in his parched throat.

_Critically weakened and vulnerable...a fast-acting illness. I am going to die in a matter of days._

He was jerked out of his disheartening thoughts by a loud tap on the pavement by Lucius' cane. They were standing in front of the gate to the lawn of a shabby house. In fact, as Draco looked around, he saw that the whole street was crammed with other similarly worn-down houses that looked like they had never seen better days. At the sound made by his father's cane, Draco noticed a ripple in the air surrounding the house—the wards had shifted to allow them in.

'Who lives here?' he queried, as the pair walked toward the mint-green front door.

'Severus,' Lucius replied shortly. Draco was taken aback; he had never seen his godfather's residence, and knew the man wasn't exactly rolling in Galleons, but would have never expected it to be such a decrepit place.

Rapping smartly with the door knocker, the father and son pair waited with bated breath. In the last few years since the end of the war, neither hide nor tail of Severus Snape had been seen. Even his Order of Merlin, First Class had been specially owled to him since he refused to appear in public. All anyone knew of Snape was that he had completely isolated himself, only brewing potions to order for a living. But Lucius knew if anyone could help Draco, it would be Severus—unquestionably intelligent and the most adept Potions Master in Britain, with dedication to his godson to boot.

There was a long silence, and Draco began to wonder if his godfather had died in self-isolation without anyone the wiser. Then the door swung open suddenly, silent as owl feathers, and before them loomed the dark figure of his godfather. The man's hair, usually kept at shoulder-length, had grown much longer and was loosely tied at the nape of his neck in a similar fashion to the wizarding tradition for males. His skin was even sallower, his eyes dark-ringed; he looked like he had not had a decent night of sleep for the last five years.

'Lucius,' he sneered cantankerously.

'Severus, old friend,' Lucius greeted.

'Godfather,' Draco chipped in.

The reclusive man clicked his tongue in irritation before stepping aside to let them in. Silently, the two Malfoys glided past him and the door was shut with a snap.

'What do you want?' Severus wasted no time in being direct. His chin was set stubbornly, but there was an underlying thread of weariness woven throughout his body. Looking closer, Draco could see the ebony black hair was laced with silver. It was clear the years had not treated his godfather well.

Severus grumbled as he finished making the cup of tea that had been interrupted by the arrival of the Malfoys. Glancing askance at them, he offered grouchily, 'You're going to have to put on another kettle if you want tea.'

Draco practically hurtled towards the kettle Severus had gestured at. He could already feel his anxiety mounting again on top of his indescribable thirst and accompanying light-headedness. Behind him, he heard his father cut straight to the chase, speaking urgently in low voices with Severus on the pandemic.

Approaching Draco abruptly, Severus began casting an assortment of diagnostic spells on him, and watched the shifting runes and colours that appeared with a grim expression. He began muttering under his breath, and before the younger man had even noticed, had pricked him for a blood sample to add to the diagnostic spells.

'Ow! What in Merlin!' Draco yelped, then his expression turned sardonic and he said caustically, 'I don't know if I told you this, but I'm trying to make a cup of tea.'

Severus ignored him, pausing in his muttering to scrutinise a particular set of runes near Draco's sternum. 'The fools,' he hissed angrily.

'Well, what is it?' Draco urged.

'How could they overlook this? It was the same on a smaller scale in Nurmengard.' Jabbing his finger at the runes, Severus continued, 'The Healers are right, this is not contagious. But it is being spread by ambient magic itself. It would seem some cells of your body have mutated to attack your magical core, eating away at it until there is nothing left. Since our magical cores are part of us since birth, your body will be severely weakened without it.'

Both Draco and Lucius looked flummoxed, but Severus was too focused on his theory to care. 'It is my belief,' he said slowly, 'that the excessive residue of Dark magic from the war has nowhere to settle but in us, breaking down at our magical cores to feed itself. It has only shown in some individuals now, but eventually, all of us will be affected. It would mean the end of all wizarding folk everywhere.'

Lucius looked horrified, and Draco had a nauseous expression. The young man had had enough of Dark magic to last more than a lifetime, and he would thank kindly not to have to come into contact with it ever again.

'It will be simple to extract it from the magical core, but tedious and time-consuming, since it's had five years to delve deep into all of us. I'm not sure the wizarding communities across the world would have resources to cope with something of this scale.' Severus mused.

Beside him, Draco felt a sharp pain through his chest as though someone had sent a spear through him, and collapsed.

'Draco!' Lucius yelled, his voice terror-tinged.

He rushed over to check if his son was still alive. When he saw that Draco's chest was still moving shallowly, he hastily lifted his wand to levitate the unconscious man onto the nearby ratty couch. Turning to Severus he pleaded, 'Focus on Draco first.'

The next three days, Severus poured all his time and energy into working on a Potions-sedated Draco, constantly waving his wand in an intricate pattern and murmuring under his breath in a lyrical tone. He paused only for quick meals and even quicker naps.

Over those three days, Lucius and Severus watched as the boy they watched grow up became increasingly paler and translucent, as if he were ceasing to exist. Lucius' chest seemed to constrict tighter with every passing day. Sweat beaded on Severus' forehead as he worked tirelessly to extricate the Dark magic which had snaked its insidious tendrils around and through Draco's magical core. Lucius spent the time helping to pour various supplementary potions and water into his son, rubbing at the throat to help him swallow. Time was running out. It was nearing the end of the tenth day. Lucius had never felt so helpless before.

All of a sudden, Severus stopped. Both men held their breaths. The house was completely still; not even a draft of air moved. There was a beat, and Draco's chest rose and fell ever so slightly with self-sustained breath. Colour flooded back into him, from his face and spreading down to his limbs. Life and vitality pulsed through him once again, and Lucius took in deep, ragged breaths at the sight of his son—his only child!—so _alive_ once again.

Severus staggered back from the couch, and slumped fatigued against the wall. 'I'll have to inform the H.O.W and St Mungo's of the—' he mumbled, relieved, as he drifted into sleep.

Lucius choked out laughter through his throat, thick with emotions. 'You can do that later, old friend. You deserve rest now.' He turned to face his son again and gently smoothed back the platinum-blond hair plastered to Draco's forehead. A crisis more than the loss of magic in a Malfoy had been averted, but now it was up to Healers everywhere to ensure the continuation of wizardkind.

**Author's Note:**

> Words: 2,839
> 
> A/N: Let's just pretend Snape is still alive after the war, okay? Okay. Perfect.
> 
> Muggles have WHO so let the wizards have HOW haha


End file.
